


In Latveria, the flowers die in summer

by DrainCyanide



Category: Marvel 616
Genre: Angst, Comedy, Denial of Feelings, Explicit Consent, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Mutual Pining, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-10
Updated: 2019-11-10
Packaged: 2021-01-26 23:44:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 20,413
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21382546
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DrainCyanide/pseuds/DrainCyanide
Summary: After the incident that revealed Victor von Doom's scarred face to the world, Stephen Strange grows worried about his frenemy and decides to pay him a visit in Latveria. Little did he know that, by the very first time in his life, Victor would put his pride aside and ask him the unthinkable...
Relationships: Stephen Strange/Victor von Doom
Kudos: 42





	In Latveria, the flowers die in summer

**Author's Note:**

> This work was only possible thanks to the ~pretty~ people in the Doomstrange server. I tried to remain loyal to canon and used as reference the following issues: Fantastic Four v6 #1-9, Doctor Strange v4 (Damnation arc), Triumph & Torment, Infamous Iron Man and Secret Wars. The title is a tribute to Hickman's New Avengers v3 #33. Please, forgive my mistakes. I hope you all enjoy it.

The world is a perfect machine. Many of its smaller components – its gears – do nothing but spin and spin in order to maintain the impeccable balance amidst chaos, following faithfully the pre-established dogmatic order. Each piece, so it’s believed, is fundamental, no matter its size. Victor von Doom knew that was a lie, told by powerful men with the only intention of giving the false impression of fulfillment. Through his many years studying the human behavior, he learned nothing but arrogance, selfishness and lust for power. He could indeed assert this theory based upon his own experiences. Even as a god of the new world, he couldn’t fulfill the void within his soul. He tried both vices and virtues, and still the void persisted. By the outside, hardness forged the armored man through steel and ice, stone and fire, only to protect the softness that once inhabited his heart. After all, the world has taught Victor that there’s no room for weaknesses.

However, the ruler of Latveria was quite tired of searching philosophical solutions to ground the meaning behind his existence and, consequently, vanquish the pain entailed by his personal void. He tried to change and it hurt deeply. For this very reason, he decided to return to basics, of sorts, when his motivations were merely selfish and ordinary, simple at core. And the Victor from the past, although deep and broken, dysfunctional and confused, was also a simple man with a simple purpose. His hatred was once more directed towards Reed Richards and his family. Once defeated, maybe he could find some peace at long last.

The plan was indeed complex and extremely dangerous. It involved a primal force of nature, conceived since the creation of the multiverse – a devourer of worlds, more specifically. With the cosmic power at his disposal, he would be invincible. And if Galactus unchained from Doctor Doom’s trap, then the accursed fantastic family would trespass Latverian soil, which meant they would be arrested for breaking the law. A flawless plan, nevertheless.

Obviously, Galactus’ imprisonment didn’t last. A being strong enough to hold such force of nature was yet to be born, and Victor was quite aware of that. The cosmic entity was returned to space and the Fantastic Four was finally at his mercy. It didn’t take too long to decide the fate of the family. The verdict resulted in execution, the very application of “civilization” at hand.

It was broadcast worldwide. The man himself orchestrated his plan in order to foment his personal vendetta for everyone to see. The execution of the Fantastic Four would become history, a lesson to be taught by the iron hands of the great Doctor Doom. Under the accusation of trespassing, he would finally achieve the most remarkable deed of his entire rulership, that is, the end of that accursed family that ruined his life for good. Under the blessing of Latverian laws, the execution was a legitimate enforcement of justice and no one would be able to prevent it.

Unfortunately, he has always underestimated the fantastic family. Perhaps even on purpose. After all, without them, his life seemed empty and meaningless. Past served as evidence to sustain that hypothesis. Victor von Doom, for many times, has spared the lives of his enemies. The reason was buried far too deep to be revealed, though. And to know Doctor Doom by his true colors meant to play with death, thus he remained a mystery.

Except the same single and common act would indeed change his life for real this time. She wasn’t called Invisible Woman for nothing. He was prepared for her force fields, but not for her iconic power of turning things invisible. He has never expected her to do that because the tyrant believed, deep down, that the woman was soft and weak at heat. Doctor Doom didn’t know Susan Storm-Richards anymore, not to mention he always underestimated female adversaries. She was changed. She traveled the multiverse along with her family, and as an explorer, she surprisingly found new and bold personality traits within herself.

That day, Sue did the unthinkable. She turned Victor’s armor invisible. In the blink of an eye, his head and bust became naked for the whole world to see. It was not only literally. His scarred and burned face was the main motivation for him to be reborn as such iconic, ruthless man behind a mask. He hid it for a reason. And now he was exposed.

Victorius tried to protect her beloved master from the incident, embracing and hiding him behind her cape, all in vain for it was too late. The Fantastic Four was free and the world uncovered his shame, his deepest secret. It’s part of their culture, their subjectivity. Disgrace and defeat are worse than death in Latveria.

On the other side of the globe, Doctor Strange watched the commotion on the television, in the safety of his Sanctum Sanctorum. His semblance was serious and concerned at the same time. At first, he hoped that Doctor Doom would fail, mostly because he has always rooted for him to be a better man. But now, pity overcame his senses and, curiously, a burning desire to comfort him emerged from his soul. They had a story, after all.

“Wong, I’ll take a leave of absence,” he said to his friend as he stood up and warped the Cloak of Levitation around his shoulders. Wong was visiting Stephen, which turned out be a failure, as usual. “If someone comes for my assistance, send them to Jericho. Or Wanda. Or Illyana. Although the last option is always a tough appointment, given the current mutant situation. Oh, by the Vishanti, it’s always hard for them, isn’t it?”

“Stephen, you wouldn’t be heading to Latveria by any chance, would you?”

“I, uh…”

Wong looked at the sorcerer with a disapproval semblance. Then, he took the cup off Stephen’s hands and turned away. However, before leaving the living room, he couldn’t help but spit his own piece of advice.

“Stephen. If all these years I’ve shared with you in this house taught me anything, is that there are certain dangers in this existence that you _may_ avoid. This is one of those. Doom is not your problem or responsibility.”

“You weren’t there, Wong. You don’t know him as I do.”

“Oh, I’m sure of that. And even so, he killed you without the slightest sign of regret or hesitation. Yes, I remember that particular event because drinking is as effective as truth serum. And you were quite drunk that night. It was _very_ uncomfortable.”

“I do not fear death,” the sorcerer dodged the breakdown episode.

“It doesn’t mean you can throw your life away for a hopeless-- a _doomed_ cause. You’re the Sorcerer Supreme, for Vishanti’s sake! You have far more wisdom than my humble being. But when it comes to heart, you’re just a mere apprentice. Of all humans on Earth, Stephen, you really had to pick him?”

“I-- I’m afraid I’m not following your implications.”

“You _are_. Listen, I’m leaving. Do as you see fit.”

Wong’s words were sharp enough to inflict damage on the sorcerer’s soul. Mostly because he was right. Victor von Doom wasn’t the kind of man who nourished affection. Beyond that, his moral compass pointed all the way down. But Stephen also knew that a magnetic field could alter a compass. He was there when Victor tricked the devil himself, all for this beloved mother. Plus, as a villain, he had no obligation to save the sorcerer. Yet, he did all the same. Oh, and Battleworld? There was so much more. Wong wouldn’t understand. He wasn’t there when Stephen, Victor and Owen were given the opportunity to wield the power of the gods. It was simply too much to bear.

_Will you accept it, Stephen?_ Victor asked.

_No. No, I can’t._

Then the ruler of Latveria stepped forward and saved the multiverse. He didn’t take it because he desired power. He did it because Stephen couldn’t. At the moment, the sorcerer realized that Victor trusted him to be a better leader, to be a better king. A better _god_.

If anything, it was his fault for what came after Battleworld. How could he blame Victor for his decisions? Death was beyond resentment. It was merely a punishment for his weaknesses and powerlessness. Not to mention that Stephen also betrayed him in the end.

The sorcerer’s sigh grew hazy, as if a deep, dark fog took over the path to clarity. His mind was a mess, and day by day he felt more and more adrift. The burden has taken its toll, and he felt like hanging by a thread, ready to snap at any moment. The main topic was always Clea, whether she was supposed to leave him or not. Sometimes Stephen dreamed of her; he found himself in the middle of a maelstrom, winds enraged and thunder as loud as God’s voice, both sky and sea pitch black. He felt exhausted every single time, his boat useless before such fierceness and magic wouldn’t respond, despite all known entities he called for. Hope faded as a soul leaving a body after a violent death. Then, when all seemed lost, a dim light on the horizon flickered, timidly and nearly swallowed by the grotesque waves. Still, it persisted, resisting the adversities and defying all the odds. After a while, the light grew brighter, its sizes gradually increasing, until Stephen could see the flame on her breast. She was an angel, she was his light. And when Stephen woke up, no matter how many times the dream repeated, he felt terrible. Her perfume could be smelled in the sheets, her sweet laugh echoing in the gloomy halls of the Sanctum Sanctorum. The sorcerer always took a deep breath and hoped that it was all Nightmare’s doing. That way, the pain, regret and doubt might be tamed.

And now there was Victor. Stephen didn’t mean to develop a special bond with the ruler of Latveria. Still, there was a shade of empathy. After the Ancient One’s lessons, he created a natural tendency to gouge people’s goodness. Stubbornness was also a prominent signature within his personality, which meant Victor represented a challenge twice as irresistible, although the fear of losing him, of failing him was overwhelming as well.

_He’s lonely, and in pain. More than anyone, I know exactly what it feels like._

With that in mind, the Sorcerer Supreme sent his negative thoughts away and opened a portal. On the other side, there was a medieval landscape lost in time, although he knew that, behind the façade, laid one of the most advanced places in the world, perhaps only beaten by Wakanda. And that didn’t include the mystical side, of course.

He walked through the portal and stared at the majestic castle before him, erected by gray, cold stones. In contrast, down the hill, Doomstadt evidenced the political regime of the country. Their ruler looked after his people, social inequality was not tolerated. Two Doombots guarding the main gate approached the sorcerer with a menacing warning.

“Halt, foreigner! You’re under arrest!” they said while their fists glowed with a strange green energy, ready to blast.

Stephen raised his hands and cooperated. The Doombots cuffed the sorcerer and escorted him to the inner side of Doom’s domain. He didn’t intend to meet Victor through a conflict. Many times, he had walked across those corridors and shared meals in those halls. Nothing has changed; the same somber and green atmosphere inhabited the castle, spreading its ominous winds capable of shivering inanimate objects. After a few steps, however, instead of heading to the dungeon, they were stopped by a familiar face halfway the hall.

“Doctor Strange. Excuse our defense system’s discourtesy. You see, the situation has gotten worse since the last event,” the man uttered, releasing Stephen from the shackles.

“There’s no need to apologize, Boris. It’s perfectly comprehensible.”

“Are you here to see the master?”

“Yes. Could you take me to him?”

“Certainly,” Boris nodded politely.

The castle consisted of gloomy and dark and haunted rooms. Yet, it felt quite familiar. The Sanctum Sanctorum exhaled precisely the same waves, the only difference laid on what kind of ghosts and demons lurked through the walls when the night approached. While Stephen would rather keep the evil spirits locked in the attic, Victor was making experiments with them in the basement. Even so, there was still a common pattern – ghosts from the past and demons from the mind. Those were meant to inhabit both their souls for all eternity.

Boris escorted the Sorcerer Supreme towards the throne room and left soon afterwards. On the top of an imposing stairway, a theatrical figure was sitting on a fancy chair, and the green curtains shadowed his shape. In any case, that was the usual feature – the perfect dramatic stage play for the perfect dramatic ruler.

“State your business swiftly.”

Stephen took a brief pause, examining the one before him. The Cloak of Levitation engulfed Stephen’s body completely, as if it were protecting its wielder. The shadows weren’t enough to hide the truth from the sorcerer, let alone the armor and the clothes.

“This is not right,” he mumbled, raising his voice afterwards. “I demand to speak with the real ruler of Latveria.”

“Such foolishness! I’m Doctor Doom, the only rightful ruler of this kingdom! And you shall pay for your insolence!”

“Yes, right. Victor, are you watching this? I need to speak with you. The _real_ you,” Stephen raised his head in order to find cameras around the room. He _knew_ his acquaintance would be watching.

It only took a few seconds. The man, that is, the robot on the throne remained still and quiet, while, from behind the green curtains and bands with the Latverian flat imprinted on them, an armored, imposing man appeared. The green mantle covered his arms behind his body, as the hood hid his eyes behind the mask. He walked towards the sorcerer and stood before him with a superior glance.

“Doctor Strange,” a metallic voice echoed from the mask.

“Victor.”

“You’re not supposed to be here. The Latverian rules are very strict regarding foreigners these days. Especially foreigner _heroes_.”

“Well, then. In this case, it doesn’t concern me. You and I share the same resolution that I do not stand for this label. I’m merely a tool in service of this dimension, despite our ideological differences.”

“It does change nothing. State your business and leave at once.”

“I’m here as a friend, Victor.”

“We’re not friends.”

“I acknowledge the fact that this bond is mostly one-sided, and I take no offense on that. Yet, it also means that I care about you, whether you like it or not. Victor, I-- I saw. The whole world did.”

The great Doctor Doom didn’t reply. He was thinking of the proper words needed to curse the sorcerer and cast him away immediately. However, nothing seemed good enough to satisfy his superior ego. Besides, he was really trying to hide how much that episode affected and hurt him deeply.

“Leave,” that was all he could say.

“Victor, I--”

“Leave!”

“Will you kill me again if I refuse?”

“If I must.”

Stephen stared at the man behind the mask for a long moment, sighing in resignation afterwards. There was an abyss between them, and not even all the spells known to the sorcerer were capable of diminishing the distance.

“I’ve never blamed you for what happened in Battleworld, you know? We never had the chance to discuss this matter properly, and at this point I don’t think we ever will. Even so, I don’t blame you. I was capable of seeing kindness within you, no matter how hard you try to play the role of this ruthless, tyrant man. My point is,” Stephen showed his scarred and trembling hands to Victor before continuing his train of thought. “I’m the closest person you have to understand what it feels like to bear incurable scars. While mine don’t affect my own image, it shredded my ego to ashes. And it was good for me. Once I was proud of my hands due to their surgical skills. Now I’m proud of them because I can save people. It’s up to you to decide what to do with what it was taken from you. Just remember one thing, never be ashamed of yourself. You’re a great man, Victor.”

“Doom doesn’t recall requesting your cheap philosophy, foolish magician.”

The sorcerer sighed once more, turning away and opening a portal to his Sanctum. However, there were still a few words left in his heart. Unfinished issues were always a seed capable of attracting the worst of ghosts.

“Oh, I’m leaving already, your Grace. But if you feel touched somehow, under this heavy armor of yours, it would be mostly magnificent if we talked again. I’ll leave this summoning paper. Burn it if you wish me to show up at your place. Any time of the day, unless I’m fighting some mystic threat. Farewell, Doctor Doom,” the entire sentence was filled with a sarcastic tone in his voice.

The piece of paper floated towards the ruler as the sorcerer walked through the portal and vanished. Victor was oddly silent for someone so eloquent as himself. He wasn’t angry for being exposed. Obviously, that kind of reaction would suggest that Stephen spoke the truth. There was indeed a burning desire to exterminate the sorcerer for those insolent words, yes. Yet, deep down, there was warmth beneath the cold armor. Strange was different. Indeed, his white temples made the ruler of Latveria remind of Richards, which led to an irrational rage. However, they were nothing alike. It was almost a sacrilege to compare them.

Without realizing, the piece of paper was on his right hand. It seemed blank for those unprovided of mystic talents. But there were alien runes carved on it that only fire could reveal. He sat on a fancy chair in front of the fireplace and divagated as the wood crackled, consumed by its flames. It was an outrage. Doctor Doom needed no one. He wrinkled the paper and left it on a side table. Then he vanished into the shadows of his castle once more.

\---

Stephen barely slept that night. Not only because his mind spent all day long reviewing his journey as a sorcerer – which included all his mistakes and regrets – but also due to dark forces lurking around the Sanctum. Every single day, a third-rated evil wizard tried to break into the place, calling upon revenge or seeking power for their evil plans. It was not very hard to get rid of them, yet it was always troublesome and tiring. And, of course, there was Doom.

“At least, no allies asking for help on the other side of the globe knocked tonight,” he sighed and watched the sun shine its first beams over the window with the iconic seal of the Vishanti.

The sorcerer then headed to the library, resting his chin on his right hand as he observed the shelves. The library smelled old books, and it was darker than it was supposed to be. Still, it was cozy, except when some tome floated violently against someone’s head. Stephen couldn’t tell what kind of literature he was seeking, however he felt the sudden impulse of his hand reaching out for a book about mystic healing.

_The Healing Arts of Xatamephor,_ he read mentally. He recalled a time when the Ancient One explained to him that healing a body was only vital for a sorcerer because they depended on it to link their souls to this plane. In fact, Stephen’s body had seen all kinds of torture and pain. His mind and spirit were always elsewhere, and he was in peace with his scarred hands. The book wasn’t meant to _him_.

As the day passed, Stephen absorbed the knowledge within the book and decided to apply it empirically. The incantations were correct, and the mystic energy was flowing through his body to midair perfectly. But there was nothing to heal. Indeed, he could try it on his own hands, yet the toll was excruciating according to the book. There was a hidden subtlety behind the spell, though, an occult element which enhanced its effectiveness.

“To heal is to give part of your soul to others,” the words blossomed from his mouth magically, as if the hidden message were found within the spell. That art was not meant to heal his hands. It was meant to be performed by him to help others. _Physicians think about themselves last_, he concluded with nostalgia, when days were simpler as a pre-med student.

Stephen was only interrupted when his belly howled like a wolf. He grew fond of reminiscences, recalling a time when Wong used to bring him tea and crackers as the day was spent on endless studies. Indeed, the night was once more upon New York. There was a shadow amidst his thoughts, something keeping him from finding a reason behind that sudden interest. Even so, he was too tired to investigate the source of this doubt, and not even the light of Agamotto would fix it.

Resolute, the sorcerer walked to the kitchen and prepared a very poor sandwich. His health was miraculously strong considering all the troubles and bad habits. Since no tentacles came out from the fridge, he headed to his chamber. He took his mantle off and lay down. The pillow was soft and fancy, as well as the sheets, which was ironic because he barely had time to rest. No disturbances in the magic fields surrounding the Sanctum, no menacing waves coming from the outside, no common calls from the ordinary telephone. Yes, it would be a very calm and nice night.

Until the paper burned and invoked his presence. The fire from the alien runes summoned a portal in plain midair, waking him up immediately.

“Victor,” he jumped from the bed as he dressed up magically, his usual blue outfit and red cloak of levitation. Then, he waved his hand and the fire engulfed him until his body was teleported to the caster.

“You’ve called?”

“Don’t you know your own spells, sorcerer?”

“Always delightful, aren’t you? How can I help you tonight?”

Silence predominated in the room. The ruler’s arms were crossed and his imposing figure didn’t move an inch. Dim lights were glowing in a green shade all over the place, and not even the shadows projecting on his body dared move.

“I demand to know the reason behind your actions,” he finally consented.

“I told you already. I care about you.”

“Why?”

“Because--” Stephen hesitated. Actually, he hasn’t given much thought to it yet. Suddenly, the shadow on his mind simply disappeared, as if the Eye of Agamotto itself had enlightened the way. The answer was clear and peace was made within his heart. “Because I know you.”

“You know _nothing_ about me.”

“I know you could have betrayed me and left me in Mephisto’s realm, but you didn’t. I know you had no desire to rule Battleworld, but you did all the same when you realized I couldn’t. I know you love your people and will always do your best to defend them. I know you became a hero when there was anger in your hear no longer. I know you have virtues. And honestly, I deeply treasure virtues, especially within those who deny them.”

“Do you truly believe I’ve made these decisions based upon your welfare? You mean nothing to me, Strange. You’re just a mediocre American hero corrupted by its putrid system, trying to do good because you desperately desire to make amends in order to atone your own sins.”

The sorcerer breathed in to counter that argument immediately, but the words failed him. His semblance grew crestfallen as he replied:

“You’re right. I have countless sins and the numbers never decrease. I carry _tons_ of guilt inside my heart and whenever my mind turns its attention to me, it swallows me in self-loathing and misery. Sometimes, literally. Yet, I do try every single day of my life. I try to be a better man, no matter how hard I fail. I _am_ miserable, Victor. At least, I admit it. So here I am, trying to offer my help to you. Perhaps because I feel guilty for betraying you in Battleworld. Perhaps because I feel I owe a favor for saving me from Mephisto. And do I mind that you _murdered_ me? No, I don’t. Mostly because I know I deserved it. Do I care that you frequently attempted to defeat me, literally stepped on my face as my body was held captive by demons _you_ summoned, or even despise my friendship before even considering it? By the Hoary Hosts of Hoggoth, I have no self-respect. I’m done here. I thought you still considered me someone to rely on after all we went through. It turns out I was wrong. I bid thee farewell, Doctor Doom.”

“Hold,” Victor replied softly before Stephen could cross the newly opened portal. “Do you wish to make amends to Doctor Doom? Do you feel you have a debt that isn’t fulfilled yet? I-- I may have a solution concerning at least one of your burdens.”

“What is it?” the sorcerer inquired, distrustful.

“Heal me.”

Stephen’s eyes widened. The great Doctor Doom has never asked such a thing before, not even when he had the chance during the Vishanti’s tournament.

“Victor, I--”

“It was Robbins. More precisely, it was the demon possessing Robbins. It burned my face again, somehow it reversed the changes after Battleworld. I want it back.”

“I-- I see.”

“Are you willing to fulfill your debt, Doctor Strange?”

Stephen pondered for a brief moment, considering all the possibilities and his previous experiences with Parker Robbins, as well as the new knowledge regarding mystic healing. The answer simply emerged from his mouth.

“Yes. Yes, I am. But I can’t promise we will succeed. Your wounds were made by both technological and mystical procedures. You’re the only one qualified to see the whole picture, and even so few progress was made concerning this matter. My knowledge doesn’t embrace the totality of your problem, thus I’m limited to the mystic arts only.”

“Hope doesn’t inhabit Doctor Doom’s soul. I will provide the technological knowledge you lack. Therefore, shall we fail, it will come from both our efforts. I won’t direct my frustrations at you, in case that’s what your mind is wondering. Is there anything else you wish to add to our agreement?”

“Well… I wish I could ask of you to be a better person. To rescue the virtues behind this armor, just like when you decided to be the new Iron Man. The man I saw on the news was definitely _not_ the Victor I’ve grown fond of during the short time we’ve spent together. But some things can’t be forced. Perhaps the process makes difference somehow.”

It was not like Doom desired to reply truthfully. He simply _owed_ him an honest answer.

“I must admit that Richards’ return was… unsettling. And the incident awakened past concepts I assumed long gone. However, I’m willing to consider your point of view and request. I cannot promise it will be permanent, though. After all, morality is a delicate, fluid state of mind that can easily be modified by mere words.”

“Say it like you mean it,” the sorcerer dared, staring at him fiercely.

“I mean it, Stephen. I’ll always be a monster to the world, and I don’t intend to change this image of mine. I need their forgiveness no longer. I am what I am and only my actions will dictate what’s reasonable for your standards. Do you find my resolution acceptable?”

Stephen meditated for a brief moment before replying. Of course, he couldn’t turn the great Doctor Doom into a hero all over again. Yet, as long as he wasn’t trying to murder people and be in cahoots with super villains in order to conquer the world, it was acceptable.

“Hm, for now. I’m risking _a lot_ here, Victor. I’ll trust you. Don’t betray my faith on you.”

“Is that all?”

The sorcerer hesitated. There was one last thing, although it wasn’t spoken. Stephen desired to be close to Victor again. His memory was still hazy during their time in Battleworld, but he was also the Sorcerer Supreme, which means very few events remained hidden from his magic senses. He remembered their disagreements and victories, he remembered rebuilding the world at his side. And he treasured all those moments so no one could tamper with his reminiscences. Stephen held them very dearly. He was entirely committed to Victor, not only in the sense of law enforcement. It was more on a spiritual level, as if he were god’s inner voice of reason. Perhaps even a safe harbor for the ruler to anchor his ship in the middle of a thunderstorm. The sorcerer wanted it back. He _craved_ it.

“Yes. That’s all,” he lied.

“Then we have an agreement,” Victor concluded as he approached Stephen. “Still, I must ask. Why are you desperately seeking my friendship, Strange?”

“I couldn’t tell. It just feels imperative, for some odd reason. Do not worry, when it becomes clear to me, I’ll let you know.”

Victor glanced at the sorcerer and nodded. There was no handshake to formalize their deal, nor magic contracts to link their souls in order to prevent violations. They both knew something way deeper was connecting them now. Secretly, it felt good to join forces yet again.

\---

Stephen teleported the book from his Sanctum in New York to the castle in Doomstadt in the blink of an eye. They were standing in the library which, to one's surprise, was as dark as the rest of the imposing fortress. The two men stood side by side as Stephen showed Doom the most relevant pages.

“I’ve been searching the content within this book and came to the conclusion that it offers the best study about mystic healing. We could, of course, look for, uh-- _shadier_ sources of healing, however we both know that this kind of action always comes with a high cost.”

“No, we won’t be signing any demonic contracts, Strange. Otherwise, I’d be healed long time ago. Besides, I truly despise demons, those wretched creatures. Light magic is the only acceptable course of action.”

“Great. So, I was analyzing your case while we headed to the library. You’ve reported that the demonic entity in Parker Robbins reversed the changes in your face, which means we’re back to the incident that scarred you in the first place. Have you tried to replicate the experiment?” Stephen raised an eyebrow.

Victor went silent once more. He could never demonstrate how scared he was of that machine, especially to the sorcerer.

“It is pointless. It was supposed to work perfectly, except that Richards ruined it. I’ll never know what went wrong because of his jealously and vandalism towards my success.”

“I disagree. You see, as a doctor and a sorcerer, I have a theory. The explosion was both mystic and scientific in its origin. The energy was boosted by magic and affected you in two degrees. The first is superficial; the damage scarred your face in a cellular level. Usually, your body would naturally recover as much as possible from the injury. However, magic also damaged you in a deeper degree, the spiritual level. It’s precisely what it’s preventing you from healing entirely. That’s why powers based on healing factors never worked on you. Magic inhabits your body in a negative sense. We must reverse it first. That’s why I need to know exactly which procedures you performed that day in order to extract the _malign_ magic.”

“If I show you the written incantation, will it be enough?”

“Perhaps,” Stephen replied softly. He sensed that Victor was afraid of it, and pushing this matter further could hurt him emotionally. Yet, there was one more complicated issue to be discussed, and the sorcerer knew it wouldn’t be received lightly. “There’s, uh-- Something else that I must ask of you.”

The sorcerer stared at the ruler hesitantly. He could see Victor’s brown eyes from the holes of the mask, full of sadness caused by the horrors and pain of his life. Even though he could sense a terrible despair coming from them, a deep pond darker than Odin’s crows or Nightmare’s realm, there was also a timid glow, flickering like fireflies in a gloomy haunted forest. Victor never hid his eyes, and for some reason, Stephen was thankful for that.

“I must examine your face.”

“No.”

“Victor, I’m a doctor. It would be much more profitable if I could examine you before resuming our research. Also, sooner or later, I’ll have to see it so I can perform the healing spell. It’s just… inevitable.”

“When the day comes, you’ll be allowed to perform the spell. In the meantime, you’re strictly forbidden to pry into my face, are we clear?”

“Yes,” the sorcerer sighed, annoyed.

“I will bring you the incantations for the experiment. You may have full access to my library. Boris will be at your service in case you need assistance. Doom must attend to national matters now.”

And the great Doctor Doom walked away, leaving Doctor Strange on his own. Sadly, the abyss between them increased.

\---

After a week, the situation changed. The ruler started questioning the sorcerer’s commitment to their deal. Indeed, Stephen had spent two days in the Dark Dimension, trying to thwart Dormammu’s plans to invade Earth – _again_. And for this very reason, he neglected Victor in the process. Still, he was the Sorcerer Supreme. There was no one else capable of dealing with the Faltinian entity. It was his oath, after all.

That morning, Doom grew weary of excuses and suddenly stormed in the library, dramatic as usual.

“Strange! Are you stalling the great Doctor Doom?” he ranted, both hands holding the door wide opened.

“Good morning to you too, Victor,” Stephen kept his eyes on the book, undisturbed by the commotion.

“Where are the results you guaranteed me, wizard?”

Well, I’d be faster at saving the planet if you were there with me,” Stephen laid the book down and crossed his arms, tired of the extra drama.

“You know we _cannot_ be seen _together_. I have a nation to look after, and I’m certain that rumors regarding our… partnership will be used against us. Both sides would take advantage on the matter. You’re smart, Strange. Use this brain of yours.”

“In that case, Doom, don’t lecture me on matters you can’t solve. I’m doing my best here, yet your annotations are not enough to pinpoint what kind of magic is behind the accident. And you’re still reluctant to let me examine you, which would grant me a few clues so we could move forward. Do you desire results? Help me, one way or another. Fight by my side or let me be your doctor.”

Victor grew introspective. On the one hand, he was running out time. The ruler of Latveria has been spending the last days locked in his castle, and his nation and his enemies were both growing impatience towards his absence. Victor had left his country unattended several times, and in all these occasions, people suffered by the hands of heinous vultures. On the other hand, he couldn’t help the sorcerer. It was a very bad move. Their agreement was not working as effectively as he expected. Still, the mere thought of revealing himself to Strange was devastating. Victor couldn’t even stare at himself in the mirror without utter repulsion. How could the man he secretly treasured bear such monstrosity? Hah, how fool he was. Stephen was lying. For a whole day, the ruler pondered the reason behind the sorcerer’s actions, and his words, when finally spoken, were not convincing at all. No one could care about Doctor Doom. No one could become affectionate towards him. Deep down, the clod magician was just like everyone else. It mattered not. Doctor Doom was not meant to be loved, and he was quite aware of that.

“Are you certain that examining my face will bring results faster than expected?”

“Yes. Yes, I am. Trust the doctor.”

Another brief pause separated their thoughts as Victor called up his decision.

“Do not enforce eye contact. Do it as swift as possible,” he mumbled.

The ruthless man led his hand to his face. A dim green light gleamed from behind the mask and the visor disengaged from the rest of the armor. Then, the rest of the helmet folded into minor pieces and retracted, uncovering his head completely. Victor looked away as locks of his curly brown hair delicately leaned over his forehead.

Stephen at long last stared at Victor. There were scars everywhere, some wider and deeper than others. One of them extended diagonally from his right cheek until the upper part of his left jaw. It cut both of his lips, engraving furrows on them. Other scar pierced his forehead, descending to his left eye. It also left a flawed spot on his eyebrow. Minor scars scratched his nose, cheeks, forehead and neck. Some resembled claws, made by a sadistic evil being. The sorcerer felt like a stab on his heart. It wasn’t only about appearance. _All these years, it must have been so painful_, he thought as he approached his hands to Victor’s face. It wasn’t disgusting or repulsing. It was profoundly heartbreaking. His eyes glimmered in such sadness, such loneliness. He didn’t deserve that. Victor was beautiful, despite of all those scars. In fact, he was even more handsome with them.

“I’ll transfer magic from my hands to your face now so I can examine you properly. The Eye of Agamotto will beam its light, assisting my examination. Is that alright for you?” the sorcerer asked softly.

“Do as you see fit,” the ruler replied, still avoiding eye contact.

Stephen’s hands touched Victor’s face. It was even ironic, the fact that the sorcerer’s scars on his hands aligned with the ruler’s, completing each other, as if they outlined the course of a river. It was not the first time that someone touched Victor’s scarred face, yet he has never felt such care and delicacy. Stephen’s hands were shaking, as usual, however they were warm and soft, embracing him dearly.

The sorcerer closed his eyes, while the amulet opened its lids. A third eye appeared on his forehead at the same time. The light from the amulet bathed Victor, who felt certain unease as he recalled the time he tried to steal the title of Sorcerer Supreme from Doctor Voodoo. No lie remained hidden from the Eye of Agamotto, which could be quite fierce and overwhelming for those who kept too many sins buried deep down in their hearts.

Stephen saw it all. There was indeed malign magic under the ruler’s skin, deeply rooted in his cells. The sorcerer could feel it, howling a sinister echo and waving a dark aura, frightful and menacing. He felt it before. They both did. _Curse me for a novice_, he thought, annoyed.

The Eye of Agamotto closed slowly, along with the third eye. Its beam of light disappeared, as well as the magic from his hands. Lastly, Stephen recomposed himself and shouted, quite impatient.

“I can’t believe it went over our heads. Of course, it was so obvious the whole time!”

“What is it?” Victor inquired as he put the mask back on his face.

“When you built the device, did you set coordinates? Or something that connected it to the specific realm you wanted to reach?”

“Yes. Settings were supposed to point to where my mother’s soul was located.”

“Which was?”

“Oh.”

They were pretty aware that Cynthia von Doom’s soul once dwelled in that cursed realm. Mephisto’s realm. They went personally rescue her from his dreadful hands. _Not that demon again_. It seemed that fate was really committed to cross their paths. It felt personal. The reason why Victor couldn’t heal his face was simply a warning that he shouldn’t pry into hell’s business. Ironically, they both managed to set his mother’s soul free. It has never kept Victor from defying the devil.

“The explosion…” the ruler began.

“It was filled with Mephisto’s dark magic, yes. The runes were supposed to protect you from it, however it seems something went wrong. The runes failed, allowing his magic to overcome your spell.”

“Can it be undone?”

“Yes. But it won’t be easy. We’re gonna need the most unthinkable item of all known sorcery: a tear from the devil.”

They were doomed.

\---

Most people believe that a travel to Vegas means joy, entertainment and pleasure of all kinds. That was definitely not the case for Doctor Strange and Doctor Doom. The sin city literally preceded its reputation, since the devil himself had a tower of his own right in the middle of town. It was fancy, red and hot, none of these characteristics in a good sense. If two cursed words should be chosen to describe the Hotel Inferno, they would be: corporation and jail. Some say they are synonyms.

“Why is Mephisto trapped in Las Vegas, Strange?” Victor asked disdainfully as they walked across the Hotel Inferno’s entrance.

“You probably saw the news, when Hydra Steve blew Vegas, right? Long story short, I screwed up. Big time. Las Vegas died, I resurrected it with a bonus; this tower. With Mephisto in it. I didn’t mean to, I swear. All ended well, though. Johnny Blaze took the shot and stole the crown from him while the devil was here torturing me. Now he’s the king of Hell and Mephisto is trapped here. See? Everything worked just fine.”

Victor rolled his eyes in disapproval. How could that man become the Sorcerer Supreme while he failed? There was clearly a huge difference between their intellects.

A long hall composed the entrance of the hotel, utterly filled with demons in suits and neckties, carrying suitcases up and down. A hell of a business they were running over there. When both doctors reached the elevator, though, someone unexpected appeared before their eyes.

“W-Wong! My old mate!” the sorcerer claimed, visibly embarrassed.

“Stephen. Can we talk? Alone?” the man pulled Stephen by his sleeve, forcing him to step in the elevator, which headed upward as its door closed. He was wearing a fancy green suit, and Stephen for a moment wondered if he was indeed his old friend. The silence was burdensome, yet no word was uttered until they reached Wong’s office.

As everything else in that place, the room was also red and hot. However, a human aura surrounded his office, as pictures of his family were hanged on the walls. Stephen wasn’t in them. Wong sat on his scarlet leather armchair, interlacing his fingers with a distrustful semblance. Some could say he resembled Charles Xavier. After a full glance at the sorcerer, he finally shot.

“Stephen. What the literally fucking hell?”

“Okay, first things first. Could you explain to me why you’re wearing this… _thing_. And what are you doing here?”

“I manage the Hotel Inferno now. Not a promotion, yet better than the old servant status, wouldn’t you agree?”

“Ouch. But fair.”

“Your turn. Please, do explain. Explain to me why Doctor Doom is right here, in _my_ tower, just a few meters from the devil. Are you friends now? Did your tour to Latveria show itself profitable?”

“Well, you see… Victor--”

“Victor?”

“_Doom_ is trying to change. Again. I convinced him.”

“How?”

“By healing his face. He promised me he’ll behave if I do it.”

“And you believed in him?”

“He listens to me. Look, I don’t expect you to understand, and I don’t ask you to trust me because I’m clearly the worst friend you’ve ever had. How could you trust me? _I_ wouldn’t. But if there’s a small, slight chance that the great Doctor Doom will try to be a good guy again, isn’t it worth giving him a shot? It’s like helping the world in the process. Everybody wins. No harm done.”

“I hate you.”

“I know.”

“How are you going to make it?”

“We need a teardrop from Mephisto.”

“Well, it was fun seeing you try. Cute even. Thank the Ancient One I walked away in time. Doctor Doom, _the_ Doctor Doom. Stephen, would you be so kind to leave at once? You have one hour, then I’ll send security to kick both of you out. And believe me, they’re not as kind as humans,” Wong showed him the door without leaving his seat.

Stephen sighed, still wondering what happened to his friend during their brief break, but there was no time for that. He promised himself he would make it up to Wong later, as usual. Lastly, he bid him farewell and went all the way down to the ground floor once more. Victor was still waiting for him in the same position when they left.

“Come. The devil awaits.”

No questions were asked. The elevator stopped at the top floor, which was quite unexpected. After all, in order to see the devil, one must go down. Yet, there he was, diminished to the size of an ordinary human being, helpless behind flaming bars. Even so, his skin was still as scarlet as the neon sign at the entrance, and the atmosphere around him was dire and perverse. He was sitting near a pile of files, deals he has made through millennia. He was also wearing a suit and reviewing the bureaucracy behind those deals. He didn’t need a lawyer, he was acting like one.

“Well, well, well. Do my eyes deceive me? My favorite doctors in the whole world are here to pay me a visit?” the hideous fiend asked sarcastically with a smile.

“Quit the foolishness, Mephisto. We’re not here to play your games.”

“Why so? You nearly won last time. Such a pity you cheated, sweet Stephen. Such a pity,” the devil cried with a sarcastic, almost seductive tone as his hands enveloped the flaming bars without any sign of pain.

“You cheated on the devil, Strange?” Doom once more inquired, unbelieving.

“I-- We’re not here to discuss that matter. What happens in Vegas, stay in Vegas.”

“Oh, so if we’re not talking about your shameful sins, then I suppose we’re here for the fake doctor, the one without any doctorates. Is it about your mommy? It’s always about your mommy, isn’t it? You’re such an oedipal cliché, aren’t you, Victor?”

“You sound like a joke drowned by bad taste, Mephisto. I thought the devil was supposed to use their intellect to bind their prey and steal their souls. However, there you are, wrong twice and behind bars. You sank quite low, even for a demon”, Victor replied. That turn was his to win.

“Twice? Does it mean you _do_ have a doctorate?”

“Of course, I do. I may be proud, but this trait of mine is always based on evidence. Most of it,” they argued with a low tone.

“Ha! Isn’t it delightful? You two sound like a married couple. I can only assume that you’re here to entertain me. In that case, be my guests. I have all eternity. What will it be? A sitcom? CSI style? We’re in Vegas, we could do both. What say you?”

“We want to ask you something,” the sorcerer ignored the taunt and proceeded. “Does the devil cry?”

“Does the devil cry? What kind of question is this? Is it a good cop, bad cop situation? Stephen will play the nice guy and Victor will come and hit my guts? Because truth be told, that would be hilarious. Or are you making a reference to that certain game? Well, I’d say the devil _may_ cry in that case, ha! Guys, guys! You’re killing me! Wong is so boring, all work and no play,” Mephisto kept laughing behind bars. He was nowhere close to a breakdown.

Doctor Doom took a deep breath, which no one saw for his semblance was hidden by the mask. All this time, he was analyzing his enemy. Attitudes, voice, behavior. He was really willing to play chess against the devil. And now his enemy was trapped, diminished, very different from the last time they’ve met. Power wouldn’t work, even for someone like him. It was an emotional battle. Humans and demons are all about emotions, after all, and that one was using humor to hide his defeated state.

“I can see behind your act, you miserable clod. You use comedy in order to hide your shredded pride after a miserable defeat. You’re a king without a crown. You’ve lost your kingdom to one of your underlings. It must be so infuriating. The devil himself was tricked. How many times has it happened now? I can recall one very special occasion when we came to _your_ dominion and deceived you with the cost of a pure soul. Does your sulfured tail still ache? A demon who is constantly played for a sucker is not fit to claim Hell. Admit it, Mephisto, you’re finished.”

The devil went silent, his semblance changed. Victor’s words were harsh, and his lot wasn’t fond of being taunted, especially by humans. Stephen noticed what was going on Victor’s head – he was trying to break Mephisto’s heart, if he had one. It seemed to work. The demon retreated. From the dark side of the cell, he looked away, constricting his heinous body and burning in shame.

“Ngh… Bo…Boo-hoo…”

A sound similar to a sobbing echoed from the dark, small cage, then…

“BWAHAHAHAHAHA!! What a show! You’re so hilarious, Vic!”

Mephisto kept laughing and laughing. The sorcerer was about to lose his temperance and release a spell of silence on that sordid creature, but the ruler didn’t move an inch. He was as still as a fortress, and his eyes were not hesitating before defeat. For this very reason, Stephen came to realize what was truly happening between them. Doom wasn’t trying to make Mephisto drop tears of sadness. Not really. The sorcerer was finally ready to join the plan.

“You think it’s funny? Laugh all you want, you’re still trapped in this tower. And Blaze is the new king of Hell. Even though you get away somehow, you have no kingdom to claim. I wonder what the other hellish lords are talking about you at this very moment. It must be so bad that it burns your ears,” Stephen added.

“Heh. I don’t know what you two are planning, but you’re really wasting both our times here. Yet, there’s something funny I’d like to share. Do you remember when I tried to mess up with you, Victor, pretending I was Reed and using a husk of your mommy’s soul? I thought it would be enough to bring you back to the dark side. I thought, ‘Heeey, Vic here will be so pissed at me for messing up with his mind. My plan is perfect’. Meh, it turns out it wasn’t that great. Also this so-called Sorcerer Supreme was at your side and ruined _everything_! Damn you, Stephen! Stop stepping in between me and Vic! Don’t you know it’s rude? Alright, but then, a little bird told me that someone did the job for me. A certain bad guy whose soul is so long lost to my cause that he doesn’t even know what it feels like to be human anymore. He scarred you again, didn’t he? Is that why you’re wearing that mask? Of course, Tony Stark is back, and he’s the original Iron Man. You have no reasons whatsoever to play the bastard playboy, right? Yet, you’re not showing me your handsome face, are you? Oh, I know it’s true. I know because I saw what you tried to do to the Fantastic Four. You’re back, aren’t you? You’re back to the old days. The great Doctor Doom, the greatest villain of all! Oh, Victor. Oh, my dear Victor! You came back to me! Your name is on my list again! I couldn’t believe it! _That_ would be a reason to cry tears of joy. Oh, the day your soul comes to my hands, we’ll have a national holiday on Hell. We’ll throw a parade only for you, and instead of flowers, we’ll throw pitchforks. And then we’ll put a crown on your head, made of the same fire that scarred your face. And we’ll do it again. And again. And again. It will be so funny. I’m thinking of inviting my old pals, perhaps Belasco, Beelzebub and Satannish. They would love it! I can barely wait for it. You’ll be mine, doomed for all eternity to suffer in my hands. Oh, even the mere thought of it really turns me on.”

“You’re a sick bastard!” Stephen shouted with repulse.

“Yes, Stephen! I’m a sick bastard! And while I’m denied to have your soul, I’ll have Victor’s! And you won’t be able to do anything to save him! It’s a long game, but I’ll win! The house always wins, you despicable wizard! _Always_! BWAHAHAHA!” his voice grew deeper and his shadow increased. His eyes burned into flames and his laugh was capable of hurting their ears.

Even so, they were about to win. Mephisto was losing it – but not in a bad way. He was having so much fun, enjoying himself so much with their miseries. And well, there _are _other ways to make someone cry, after all. A water bubble took shape on the corner of the devil’s eye. Little by little, its size increased, until it finally rolled down over his face.

The sorcerer waved his hands and a bright sphere took shape around the tear, floating toward their side. Mephisto was so lost in his sick delight that he didn’t even notice the spell. Stephen smirked at Victor and they turned away, leaving the devil behind.

\---

At this point, describing a dark room in Doomcastle is redundancy. Yet, this one in particular felt even more dreadful than the others. The reason laid on the fact that occult forces were always lurking behind those stone walls. Doctor Doom has never been afraid of experimenting on the dark arts, unlike his current associate. According to his perspective, the dark arts were merely a more dangerous counterpart, and only the strongest were fit to conquer such power without succumbing to corruption. Of course, assuming the user is not corrupted already. It turns out Doctor Strange had his share on those unconquerable, unpredictable forces, and he’d rather avoid them after everything he’s been through. Even though a familiar feeling ran down his spine, Stephen shivered as he set his foot on that place, a great feat when it comes to the Sorcerer Supreme. Ominous echoes filled with mourning voices murmured in his ears, and his sensitive eyes beheld the true horror fomented by tormented souls.

“Victor, this place… It’s _drearier_ than I remember, when we studied magic side by side back in the days.”

“I’m truly amazed that the Sorcerer Supreme is capable of displaying such cowardice before magic. Isn’t it your field of expertise?”

“Precisely my thoughts. You are concentrating too much dark forces in this single room. The balance is broken. I’m aware you perform certain… _shady_ experiences with the dark arts, but I’ve never thought you’d be so reckless. The Dire Vine is not supposed to be nowhere near the Tome of Albanon. Had these forces come across, it might result in a curse huge enough to affect Latveria for a whole century. And I’m not even talking about the dormant demons trapped in those capsules or the damned spirits chanting bedeviled words at you. This really got worse than last time I was here.”

“I don’t recall requesting your services as a consultant. I’ve only agreed to join forces due to your healing skills. Beyond that, Doctor Doom’s research does not concern you,” the ruler rebutted as they entered the room.

“It does concern me if we’re going to cast the spell in such devilish conditions. Xatamephor’s healing incantation is based on light magic, any corrupted counterforce will cause asymmetry in the mystic balance. We need perfect conditions, Victor. The safer, the better. Locked demons and vengeful spirits are definitely not a good ground to perform the ritual. Besides, it will take a whole month. We can’t afford interruptions, otherwise all is lost. I don’t want this to fail.”

“_You_?”

“_We_.”

Doom pondered the sorcerer’s request with a hand on his chin and vacant eyes. The Sanctum Sanctorum has come to his mind a few times, however it was out of question. Should he be healed, it would happen in Latverian soil. He was too proud to anchor that so long-awaited dream in enemy territory. There was also the implication that he would be entirely vulnerable, and the mere thought of it was capable of infuriating him. Where would it be, the safest place in Doomcastle indeed?

“I’ve decided. Although it doesn’t feel quite appropriate, I’m afraid.”

“As long as it’s not here, I’ll take those chances.”

“Follow me.”

\---

They didn’t take the usual path. There was a hidden passage behind Doom’s lab, which led to vital points of the castle. It was faster, and safer. The passageway led to the most unexpected place of all: Victor’s personal chamber.

Stephen hesitated, this time due to the sudden beam of intimacy hitting him eyes and soul. _Has he lost his mind?_

“This is the safest room in my castle, perhaps in all Latveria. There are hidden spells of protection and weaponry ready to activate at the slightest sign of menace. It is obviously expected, since I’m the most important person in this kingdom,” the man replied, almost as if he had read Stephen’s thoughts.

“Are you certain about this? Isn’t it too… _personal_ for your standards?”

“Yes, Stephen. It’s quite bothersome and inconvenient. However, you’ve made a logical request, and this is my logical response. Or do you regret this decision? Should we go back to the laboratory?”

“No, no! It’s fine. Let’s prepare the room.”

Victor was responsible for engraving the runes on the walls, while Stephen drew the eldritch circle on the floor. The sorcerer was quite tempted to analyze Victor’s room; its green sheets matching the green curtains, the books on the shelves, the wooden dressing table, the vivid rose in the vase, beautifully highlighted on the side table. The ruler of Latveria had good taste, and Stephen would give anything to check his literary preferences. Yet, they had a ritual to perform and midnight approached. Besides, he needed all focus he could gather. Secretly, if needed, he was even willing to give part of his soul in order to heal Victor.

“It’s done,” Doom turned at the sorcerer and crossed his arms, standing as imposing as usual, but not without noticing that something was amiss. “Where are the Cloak of Levitation and that accursed eye of yours?”

“I’ve left them to Magik and Wiccan. They’ll take care of the Sanctum while I’m here. I’ve come to realize that I can’t protect this dimension and commit myself to the ritual at the same time. I couldn’t even stay here for a whole week without any magic incidents. They’ll be fine.”

“You’ve consciously left the mission of protecting Earth from mystic threats to two children?” Victor muttered, disbelieving.

“They’re not children anymore. Besides, Jericho refused to take the mantle again – and I blame you for that. Wanda is not fond of that house, or the job, or me. And Agatha is a witch in more senses than I’d like. In any case, there was no one left.”

“Are you certain you can’t do both?”

“Well, _you_ were the one who accused me of being negligent towards you. I’m not taking any chances. This is far too important,” the words slipped out of his month.

Victor hesitated. His first instinct was to interpret that statement in the logical sense of Stephen’s interests. It would be more profitable to the Sorcerer Supreme if one of his enemies left the old ways behind. Of course, there was no deeper meaning to that statement whatsoever.

_I told you already. I care about you._

Obviously a convenient lie. Obviously.

Stephen added Mephisto’s teardrop at the center rune of the circle, activating its mystical energy. Then, he took a deep breath and began his recapitulation.

“Alright, review time. We’ll both enter the circle and chant the occult words at midnight sharp. It will take about one hour. We’ll have to perform it every single day, at the same hour, until the lunar cycle is complete after 28 days. We cannot skip the ritual or be delayed. One minute after midnight and the spell fails. It won’t have side effects, but we won’t be able to repeat the incantation ever again. We’ve got only one shot. Understood?”

“Perfectly.”

“Are… Are you ready?” Stephen asked with a tone which revealed a true concern and a deep diligence. His eyes evidenced a soft part of his soul, as if he were consenting Victor to drop the act and, for one last time before all ended, to speak from the heart.

“Certainly,” Victor’s voice softened as a result.

They entered the circle. In lotus position, they levitated face to face. Victor retracted his mask, looking away once more in order to avoid eye contact. Stephen found him beautiful all over again.

There were two minutes left until midnight. Two minutes of silence and a maelstrom of thoughts. Yet, there was enough time to feel the proximity between them. The green mantle floating, their bodies so close, their legs nearly touching each other, their respective smells. And, of course, their hearts pounding faster and faster, although the reason was more profound than mere anxiety.

Midnight. Candles blown out. Stephen’s trembling hands reached out for Victor’s scarred face, warm and soft as the ruler recalled. The incantation began with a deep voice, and lights came out from the sorcerer’s eyes and mouth. He was in a different plane now, while Victor stayed behind in the terrene plane. The ruler was conscious, aware of his surroundings, yet still as a fortress. His eyes remained closed for the first minutes, but curiosity is a geniuses’ virtue.

Stephen’s body was floating delicately, with such a grace not found in any other magician Victor has ever met. The ruler wondered if the sorcerer felt disgusted as he touched his scarred face. It didn’t seem he did, his move was so solid, so consistent, although they still trembled as a result of the car accident. For the very first time in his entire life, Victor von Doom considered the possibility that there was at least one person in the whole world that could look at his face and find it beautiful. A foolish, preposterous thought. Still, there he was, touching Victor’s face for nearly an hour. The ruler glanced at Stephen’s semblance. The sorcerer was calm, light, a peaceful image. He started noticing the lines bordering the sorcerer’s face, and then the way his facial hair perfectly fit his chin and circled his mouth. Oh, the lips. They were a little thin, yet very pinkish. A sudden desire, and an instant, effective reprehension from his superego. As a side effect, Victor raised his sight to his eyebrows. They were not perfectly aligned, although they had an average thickness. A black tuft gently landed on his forehead, contrasting with the white temples around his ears. The sorcerer was really committed to look younger than his actual age, perhaps a crisis driven by vanity and nostalgia. In the end, the ruler simply surrendered and concluded that Stephen was indeed a handsome man, even though this thought ended up locked away in a dark place of his heart, along with many other forbidden secrets.

The ritual was a daring test of patience. There was nothing else Victor could do but wait for Stephen to return from the other plane. It wasn’t really astral, otherwise they could travel together. From Xatamephor’s annotations, in order to heal a mystic wound, the healer should travel to the plane between magic and reality, where they could behold the accursed energies which unbalanced the natural order of the physical realm. There, the healer would perform an extensive incantation towards the wound. Stephen was remarkable at learning new languages, and his mystic skills were beyond comparison. It didn’t take much long for him to memorize the words from that alien idiom. He was probably doing just fine. The hardest part was enduring boredom – and certain _thoughts_.

After seventy-two minutes, the sorcerer’s eyes and mouth glowed once more, implying his return. He lost his balance in the levitation, falling down to the ground. Something was not quite right.

“Stephen?” Victor left the lotus position and kneeled at his side, offering his arm as a prop for the sorcerer.

“I’m… Fine… Just… Weary…”

“Did it work?”

“Yes, it did,” Stephen replied as they stood up together, his hand still on Victor’s shoulder. “I knew the spell would drain my strength… But that was beyond my expectations. In any case, the course is settled and the path is opened. Only more twenty-seven days to go,” he smiled timidly at the ruler.

“Is… Is there any difference?” Victor for the very first time was brave enough to look Stephen in the eyes without his mask.

“Well… Think of it as a long medical treatment. Sadly, unlike a healing process, physical change won’t be visible until the spell is complete. Be patient, Victor. You’ll be rewarded, that I can assure you.”

Doom didn’t reply, nor did he thank the sorcerer. He simply put his mask on and nodded. Deep down, he was in fact incredibly thrilled.

“Boris will escort you to your chamber now. Take some rest and gather your strength, for tonight it will be required again,” he ended his statement as he observed Doomstadt by the window.

Stephen smiled and, for a brief period, remained admiring that magnificent and imposing figure. He knew there was a subtle “thank you” hidden amidst those words. He knew the true Doctor Doom, and that was enough for him.

\---

The first day passed surprisingly without any incidents concerning the magic realm. Stephen contacted Illyana and Billy through a mystic link, and all was well. A minor incident with the demons under the stairs and a jump scare when they opened the fridge in the morning, but nothing really menacing. In Latveria, the kingdom seemed at peace as well. Of course, obscure meetings and agreements were probably being made by Victor’s Doombots all over the country. Yet, as long as it guaranteed people’s safety and protection, it didn’t concern him.

The sorcerer then decided to spend his time in the library. Doctor Doom’s personal collection was incredible. The science section woke Stephen’s curiosity, but when terms became too technical, he diverted his attention to the mystic arts. Sadly, most of the tomes were based on dark magic. Of course, knowledge shouldn’t be forbidden, yet he knew Victor wouldn’t be satisfied at just casual reading. Everything had a purpose when it came to his pursuit for power. Stephen wondered what would happen if Victor accepted to become his apprentice. Would he become a better man under his tutelage? Optimism was a virtue Stephen didn’t own. He thought of Mordo and the Ancient One. No matter how much kindness and wisdom the master exhaled, his apprentice ended up on the wrong path. And now they were mortal enemies, eternally fated to fight each other.

Stephen wished a different outcome concerning his relationship with Victor. Unlike Mordo, there was still good buried in Doom’s heart. He recalled their quest, he recalled how much love a son could bear for his mother. He truly loved Cynthia von Doom. A monster wouldn’t be capable of nourishing such emotions. The sorcerer was the only one who knew this secret. It was his responsibility, his duty.

_I’m going to save Victor von Doom_, he concluded, closing the book and retrieving it to the shelf.

A few minutes later, the sorcerer decided to walk around the castle. He wouldn’t see the king until the ritual, not even during meals. That night, Boris would confess to the guest that Victor wasn’t fond of having dinner in his office, but since his presence was a constant, he’d rather avoid socializing. It was not news to Stephen. He had spent weeks in Latveria before, tutoring Doom into the mystic arts. Nothing has changed, he was still a lonely ruler trapped in a cold castle. And suddenly, an insight struck the sorcerer. Was it that different from his life at the Sanctum, after all?

\---

The ritual commenced once more. After a week, they were getting used to the proceedings. However, the process was devastating – in both ways. While Stephen’s strength was being drained as the minutes passed by, Victor was left behind to deal with… feelings. He was growing weary of that brawl against his own instincts. He was growing weary of admiring – and desiring – Stephen’s body. It was authentic torture.

During the bureaucratic hours locked in his office, his mind digressed to the sorcerer’s image. His curiosity diverted his attention to the possible activities which his guest would choose in Latveria. He wasn’t any tourist. He had been in the country before, and Boris probably showed him the best places in Doomstadt. It was not his responsibility.

Victor hated it. He hated the unwitting act of thinking of Doctor Strange. Somehow, the accursed sorcerer was capable of altruism. It was expected from a hero, after all. Even so, he has never found any American hero willing to give the tyrant a vote of confidence. And he was fine with that. Until Stephen showed up, with those soft eyes and that naïve attitude. Now, he felt a sudden urge to reassure the sorcerer’s convictions towards him. It was infuriating. Doctor Doom was proud of his insensibility, of his strong will against emotions. What was even happening to him?

That was when he decided to lock himself away once more. They were getting too close, too intimate. Their story perhaps allowed such proximity to happen in the past, but no more. He was no longer an apprentice chasing the devil. He was no longer a god in need of counseling. He was no longer an altruistic hero in search of approval. He was Doctor Doom. And he needed no one.

As soon as the session was over, Stephen once more lost his balance. It was getting worse, the pain and the exhaustion taking over his body. He could barely stand. Suddenly, Doombots opened the door, summoned by their master.

“They will take you to your chamber,” he uttered coldly.

“Where’s Boris?”

“Busy. Now leave, I still have matters to attend to.”

\---

Two weeks, fourteen sessions. Minor magical incidents in New York and other dimensions, perfectly handled by Magik and Wiccan, along with the rest of the sorcerers on Earth. Latveria felt peaceful, and suddenly the burden of the Sorcerer Supreme didn’t feel so heavy. Yet, Stephen’s heart weighted like a huge stone on his shoulders.

Victor was acting _colder_ than usual. It was getting on his nerves. The sorcerer’s intention was to approach the lonely ruler, not the opposite. For endless nights, he wondered if wrong words were spoken or wrong actions were made. All he got were inconclusive thoughts. Not even his kind attitude touched Doctor Doom’s heart. Disaster was imminently unavoidable.

When the fifteenth session ended, Stephen, before falling, was levitated by Victor towards a previously prepared armchair. The ruler was ready to summon his Doombots when something touched his gauntlet.

“Stop,” Stephen held Victor’s wrist, preventing him from leaving. “You’re not even sending Boris anymore. You’re sending those stupid robots to take care of me. And then you avoid me all day long and treat me like a disposable burden. What did I do to you, Victor? Why are you treating me like this?”

“Should I remind you that our relationship is limited to professionalism only? I don’t owe you friendship, Strange.”

“Liar. You’re a pretty damn liar.”

“Excuse me? Are you out of your mind?” Doom took offense in that statement. In fact, he was a bit surprised at that behavior.

“We _are_ friends.”

Victor scoffed, turning his back on the sorcerer and walking towards the window. “Friends? Doctor Doom doesn’t have friends. Nor he desires them. You’re mere a tool which will lead me to my goal. Don’t flatter yourself, it doesn’t suit you.”

Stephen propped his right hand on the armchair, giving the needed support to stand up. The more he performed the healing spell, the more it drained his strength. It was getting worse, yet he wasn’t showing any signs of withdrawal. He stared at Victor’s imposing figure, still with his back on him, as if he were scorning the faint magician.

“So why didn’t you leave me to rot in Hell? Why did you save me?”

“Because you’re far more useful to me as an ally. As usual, I’m absolutely correct. This incantation is utmost proof to sustain my claim. As I said before, do not flatter yourself. My actions are based on logic only, Strange. I’d never succumb to futile emotions.”

The sorcerer wasn’t satisfied. In mind, he cursed the nine circles of hell for leaving the Eye of Agamotto to his apprentices. Otherwise, he could have cast its light in order to see the truth behind Doom’s act. He wasn’t only weary. He was angry. It was time to cast the forbidden words, even though they weren’t part of the spell.

“You asked me why I desperately seek your friendship. I wasn’t aware of the true reason behind my actions. I pondered and meditated and reflected, yet no logical answer came to my mind. Only I was looking at the wrong direction. The answer was within my heart all this time.”

They suddenly faced those moments when one step, one decision, would trigger substantial changes in their lives, altering their fates and dynamics for good. Both of them feared the edge of the cliff, and even though they could levitate their way through, no magic would save them from the fall.

“Strange, say no more. I won’t tolerate such foolishness in--”

“I love you.”

Silence. Deep, heavy, menacing silence, longer than a thousand moonless nights. Victor did hear those words. And Stephen could wait all eternity for a response, no matter how painful the waiting could be.

“How dare you mock at my face with such desecrating words, you insolent clod?” his vocabulary was threatening, yet the tone came out softly. He was still by the window, and not even a single inch of movement was made.

“I’m not. It’s true.”

_Enough_.

Doctor Doom turned swiftly, his green mantle dramatically flopping around his body. With steady, heavy, metallic steps, the imposing figure walked towards the weary wizard. He didn’t slow down as he approached Stephen. On the contrary, he raised his steel gauntlet, voraciously yearning for the magician’s neck. The grip wasn’t enough, for Doom pinned Stephen violently against the wall and raised his body off the floor.

“How dare you? How _dare_ you?” Victor tightened his grip around Stephen’s neck, pressing his body against the wall harder and harder. The sorcerer instinctively tried to hold Doom’s wrists in a desperate attempt to ease the squeezing and suffocation, however his body wasn’t responding effectively. He was still too weary.

“It’s… true…” Stephen muttered, gasping for air.

“Quiet!” the ruler once more thrusted the sorcerer’s neck against the wall, squeezing it in pure, blind anger.

_Use a spell of revelation on me_, Stephen tried to reach out the words and utter them at the top of his lungs, but they didn’t come. Perhaps it would make no difference. Victor was truly willing to kill the only person who has ever been capable of having feelings for such a ruthless monster. There was so much anger in his eyes, and instead of fear or pain, Stephen felt compassion. Nearly losing his consciousness, his shaking right hand instinctively reached out for Victor’s face. It wasn’t an attempt to overcome a deadly situation for survival. It was a gesture of affection towards a monster. He wasn’t afraid of dying by the hands of the man he loved.

The ruler’s eyes widened, and his hand hesitated as he felt the tender yet clumsy touch, allied to those pitiful, vacant, teary eyes. He couldn’t. He couldn’t do it again, especially now. Victor released Stephen all of sudden, hitting the floor with a great impact. Miserably gasping for air, the sorcerer remained there, defeated and too weak to pronounce any words.

“I can’t...” Victor turned away in shame, leaning over the wooden dressing table. His hands were shacking as much as Stephen’s, and he wouldn’t dare look at his reflection in the mirror.

“Victor…” he muttered after a cough, the price of the incantation and the assault still taking its toll on his body.

Doom’s true despair was hidden behind the armor, his lips quivering and his breath uneven, transpiring his insecurity with muffled, metallic pants, growing louder and louder progressively. He was desperate. All those words, for so long locked away in a dark corner of his heart, finally found the strength to break free. It was an uprising, and he wasn’t strong enough to prevent it. He was overtaken.

“I curse the day our paths crossed,” he started. “I curse the day you taught me sorcery and the day we went to hell and rescued my mother’s soul. I curse the day you found your way to me when we faced the Beyonders. I curse the day I’ve become god and I’ve made you my sheriff and my closest friend. I curse the day I killed you for betraying me. I curse the day you believed that I could be a good man when no one else did. And most of all, I curse the day I let you touch my face! I curse it all! Damn you, Stephen! I could extinguish every single soul in this noxious world, yet I couldn’t kill you again, no matter how much I yearn for your end. You did what no one has ever accomplished. You learned all my weaknesses and left me completely vulnerable. You’ve defeated me, not through magic or science, but through kindness. You’ve ruined me…”

Stephen heard every word as if his life depended on it. He finally learned the truth, and it was surprisingly comforting since he realized he was not alone. All the pain and regret, guilt and self-loathing, they were both fighting their own inner demons. And all this time, they could have fought them together, side by side. The sorcerer then decided which path he would take from that moment on. He was willing to go all the way down, even though it meant damnation. He was cursed already, no additional harm would be done as long as those very terms remained. With that in mind, he stood up, and not even all mystic entities of the entire multiverse were capable of pointing out the source of Stephen’s strength to perform such effort.

He hobbled a few steps towards the fallen king, his whole body aching more than the consequences of the worst brawl he has ever had in his life. He was about to collapse. Even so, he leaned in Victor’s body, embracing him from behind. Victor’s heart was about to burst. It was terrifying.

“Stop fighting…” Stephen whispered softly on his back, his trembling hands caressing Victor’s armored chest. “Do you remember when your sacred word was the ultimate law, and everyone kneeled at your feet when ordered?”

“Why are you reminding me of this?” the ruler muttered, glancing at the sorcerer over his shoulder.

Stephen straightened up his body and pulled Victor’s shoulder tenderly so they could stare at each other. The sorcerer touched his mask and smiled at him with such kindness capable of crumbling the hardest of all fortresses.

Then he kneeled. He kneeled at Victor’s feet like a loyal subject, submitted to his king’s will and mercy. He raised his eyes to his king, his semblance a little sassy, yet a little kind. His hands reached out for Doom’s belt, unbuttoning and dropping it on the floor despite the gun attached to it. Soon afterwards, he stroked the ruler’s thights, even though the armor was still on, sliding his fingers up along with the green tunic. His crotch was also protected by a codpiece, yet it didn’t prevent Stephen from panting against the steel, leaving a warm breath on it.

Victor shivered. The sorcerer was craving his skin, provoking him until he got what he wanted. _Bastard_, the ruler thought, his cock hard as hell under the armor. That game woke Doom’s pride once more, along with his confidence. If they were competing for dominance, the winner would certainly be Doom.

Victor’s right hand grabbed Stephen’s hair tightly, pulling his head back and forcing the sorcerer to stare at him, its grip cold and hard due to the steel gauntlet. Meanwhile, most of his armor retracted, remaining only the upper part of his body and the mask.

“No touching,” Doom ordered, invoking the Crimson Bands of Cyttorak and tying Stephen’s hands behind his back. The sorcerer nodded with a smile.

Closing his eyes, Stephen opened his mouth, rubbing his lips on Victor’s crown. Slowly, the tip of his tongue licked the lower side, then circled around it until completing a full circumference. He wasn’t done with his tongue, though. The sorcerer licked his king’s cock entirely, the tip of his nose rubbing against it in the process. Victor’s grip loosened as his breath became heavier. He was too thrilled at that image, and for a brief moment, he forgot they were playing a game for dominance.

Stephen was now licking its base, ascending all the way up to the crown and back. Deliberately, the sorcerer unleashed a muffled moan, which made the king shiver. As a response, Victor once more tightened his grip on Stephen’s hair, pressing his head against his body. The sorcerer smirked in delight, his taunt successfully fruitful.

“I’ll teach you not to provoke your king,” Victor whispered, pinning Stephen’s mouth against his cock and thrusting it voraciously. The sorcerer gasped, not ready to receive such volume into his mouth and throat. A groan escaped his composure as he furrowed his eyebrows, which made Victor pant in delight.

The ruler then pulled Stephen’s head against his cock back and forth greedily, its speed increasing progressively as his fingers interlaced with those soft locks of black hair. The sorcerer kept moaning with a muffled tone, deliberately allowing Victor to manipulate the game at his will. His tongue rubbed the king’s skin, and he wished he could do more, but it was hard enough to breathe and keep his throat working in consonance. Besides, his hands were literally tied.

Saliva drooled from his mouth, his chest moving faster and faster as his breath intensified. Meanwhile, Doom struggled to control his strength, compensating on the clutch against the table. Sweat rolled down from his forehead, the heat of the mask increasing as the climax approached. The sorcerer was also sweating, and for a moment, the king couldn’t tell if that certain drop was made of sweat or tear. They were both losing it, even though their muffled voices hid their true satisfaction. They remembered their game in Battleworld; the danger of playing with a god turned Stephen on eagerly. He had this audacity of defying death, it happened so many times that the idea became ordinary. Victor wasn’t a god anymore. Still, the sorcerer wanted to make him feel like one. A powerful, omniscient conductor, exercising his dominance on his most loyal subject, but not forgetting the kind and merciful side of his heart. Stephen was entirely his, and Victor could feel it, all that evident compliance which provided his utmost satisfaction, not because he forced Stephen to obey and serve his master, no. Because the sorcerer willingly kneeled at his feet as a sign of submission, because the sorcerer volunteered to suck his cock with a blind commitment and an insatiable thirst. The king could see it on his semblance; his helpless passivity before his master, conceding power and dominance to those armored fingers on his hair, grasping and preventing him from escaping.

As a response to that beautiful image, Victor came into Stephen’s mouth without any warnings. The sorcerer choked in surprise, not being able to swallow his cum entirely. A portion dripped over his lips and chin, sullying his black facial hair with white stains. Such disappointment, allowing that delicious fluid to be wasted.

It was not intentional, though. The sorcerer panted, his eyesight fading slowly, his senses becoming dizzy, until he finally succumbed and fainted.

“Stephen?” the ruler held the unconscious magician in his arms. As the end of the ritual drew closer, the cost on Stephen’s body increased, becoming nearly unbearable. Victor wasn’t aware of the true meaning behind Xatamephor’s spell. He read it word by word and analyzed them carefully, yet it didn’t mean he interpreted them as Stephen did. _To heal is to give part of your soul to others_. It wasn’t a metaphorical statement. The sorcerer was shattering his own soul in the process. He didn’t mind. It felt like just a bonus, a different kind of pain to be added into his aching life, after all.

Victor laid Stephen on his bed gently, taking his gauntlet off and wiping the dripping cum from the sorcerer’s lips and facial hair with his thumb. For a moment, he wondered if they exaggerated on their game. But soon enough Stephen opened his eyes, the image of his king sitting next to him.

“Let me see your face,” he asked softly.

Victor looked away, thoughtful. _You won’t appreciate what you are about to see_, he desired to reply. Still, it wouldn’t work. Stephen has stared at his scarred face for two weeks now, perhaps he even grew used to it. And he didn’t seem disgusted a few minutes ago. With a deep sigh, the ruler reached out for his mask and disengaged from the rest of the armor, revealing his scars and saddened semblance. Slowly, the pieces retracted, until all his skin was finally free to feel the touch of the breeze.

“By the Hoary Hosts… You’re so beautiful,” Stephen whispered, touching Victor’s face tenderly with great effort.

“You’re certainly hallucinating.”

“No, I’m not… Victor… I need to feel you,” those soft blue eyes hit him like a bullet.

“You’re barely conscious, you fool.”

“Well, that means you’re free to do whatever you want to me,” he raised his eyebrow and smirked. He was indeed a bastard.

Victor was definitely a compass and Stephen was his magnetic field. It messed him unnaturally, it twisted him in ways he couldn’t comprehend. And even though the king hated not to be in control, he would set his body into the middle of the storm without thinking twice. He couldn’t tell when he became so reckless, but seeing the sorcerer lying on his bed, vulnerable and thirsty, willingly submitted, was enough to justify his current state of mind.

With another sigh, he stood up and turned away, taking his green tunic off. The sorcerer observed that beautiful figure, completely naked next to him. Although his face was the most affected due to the explosion, there were also minor scars across his back, arms and legs. Stephen still found Victor beautiful all the same.

The ruler walked towards the foot of the bed, kneeling between the sorcerer’s legs. With a sudden pull, he removed Stephen’s black pants. The belt and the blue tunic were removed through magic for Victor grew impatience. He then bent the wizard’s legs against his abdomen, hooking them on his shoulders. Victor’s massive body leaned over the helpless wizard, pressing Stephen’s tights thoroughly, and his hands rigidly clutched the sorcerer’s wrists up his head, pressing them against the mattress with the same intensity. The very feeling of vulnerability was enough to make Stephen become hard as hell, failing miserably at hiding his desire through his accelerated breath.

They faced each other for a brief moment, Victor admiring Stephen’s blue eyes, while the sorcerer lost his reason on the ruler’s scarred lips, coming closer and closer. Finally, their lips touched once. Then twice. Clumsily, they commenced a kiss. Their tongues timidly touched each other a few times before they finally found the courage to deepen their kiss. Victor was reluctant at first, uncomfortable with such intimacy, but soon enough he thrusted his tongue into Stephen’s mouth ardently. The sorcerer felt the pressure on his wrists and his breath became heavier as Victor’s crotch pressed his hips and thighs. They could feel their heartbeats increasing gradually, as the same pace they intensified their kiss.

Stephen soon realized their dynamics. Victor wouldn’t stop kissing him for he didn’t want the sorcerer to break free from his grip. He was entirely submitted to his will, and his body was fated to embrace the ruler in all possible ways. Not that he was complaining. On the contrary, it was driving him crazy, and his yearning grew apparent through his muffled moans. Victor’s cock was already lubed through a spell – one that most sorcerers learn at some point, by the way. The ruler then accommodated the crown of his cock into Stephen’s ass, deliberately taking longer than expected to thrust it in an attempt to taunt the sorcerer.

Long, torturing minutes passed by. Their kiss wouldn’t allow Stephen to ask for mercy. As he figured out, Victor wasn’t giving him any room to speak. If physical means were failing, it was time to use magic. A mental link connected their minds for a moment.

_Victor, please_, the sorcerer cried.

_No. Unless you say the words I want to hear_, the dominant king replied.

_Please…_

_Say it!_

_Penetrate me_, the sorcerer obeyed, his ego in pieces.

_Say it again_, a tone of pride and sadism in his thought.

_Please…_

_Say it!_

_Penetrate me!_

Victor did as requested. With a sudden impulse, he thrusted his cock entirely into Stephen’s butt, who tipped his head back with a loud moan, breaking the kiss for a brief second. It didn’t last long. The king sought the sorcerer’s mouth voraciously once more, thrusting his tongue at the same pace he pulled his hips against Stephen’s body and pressed his wrists against the mattress.

It was overwhelming. The need of touching, clutching and even scratching Victor’s skin was taking over Stephen, and the pulsing feeling of his own cock against the ruler’s crotch was nearly driving him to cry. Yet he was being completely denied. His legs were seized, and his feet were only capable of rubbing against the ruler’s back, its fingers constricting in pleasure and satisfaction. His arms could barely offer an escape for he was too weak to retaliate, and his voice was muted for his mouth was taken. He had been utterly conquered, another victim of Doom’s mighty.

The heat and the smell exhaling from the ruler’s body were also intoxicating. He was perfect, despite of his definitions of beauty. He had Stephen at his utmost will, yet no harm or violence came from attitudes. He respected their game of dominance, even though they didn’t share a single word about the terms. The sorcerer wanted more, though. He was desperate for touching, and their bodies rubbing one against the other were not enough to satisfy his lust.

As if they were still connected through a mental link, Victor decided to increase the intensity of his movements more and more, which proved to be thrilling to the sorcerer. The kiss was now hardly muffling Stephen’s moans, and his breath became heavier for he gasped for air. His fists clinched and his legs tightened their grip around the ruler’s hips, the only moves he could do under such conditions. Victor was taking everything from him, and he was allowing it.

At the climax, when saliva drooled from their kiss and sweat mixed with his teary eyes, Stephen failed at holding his satisfaction any longer. He came, a long muffled moan escaping from the top of his lugs. As a sign of mercy, his king interrupted their kiss so the sorcerer could breathe. However, he resumed the thrust of his cock as he pleased. Their foreheads touched, and now Stephen could feel Victor’s warm breath all over his face as he moved back and forth. He wished he hadn’t come yet, it would have allowed him to enjoy that feeling in a deeper level. Even so, it felt pleasing all the same. He was so good.

After a while, alternating between slow and intense thrusts, the king finally came, a low pant to enhance his satisfaction. He then buried his face into Stephen’s shoulder and neck with a deep sigh and released the sorcerer from his utter grip. Stephen lowered his legs, feeling Victor’s warm cum invading him, dripping all over his buttocks and thighs. Finally with his hands free, the sorcerer wrapped the king around his arms, interlacing his fingers in those curly, brown locks of hair.

Still with Victor’s cock inside of him, Stephen blacked out. His energy was completely drained in all senses, and he took his body to its limit. Realizing the cuddling has stopped, the ruler raised his hips, disengaging their bodies, and stared at the sorcerer. He was still breathing, a tender semblance evidencing satisfaction and exhaustion. A sign of relief in his eyes struck the ruler, still admiring that languid figure before him. Victor then kissed his lips and lay down at his side. Remarkably, there was a smile on his face.

\---

The twelve-seventh day of the ritual was concluded. However, instead of the habitual fragility and exhaustion, Stephen truly blacked out.

Since their first time, every night, Victor laid the sorcerer on his bed and took care of him. They had come to an agreement which established they would have their intimate moment when he rested properly. At first, the idea of Stephen hopelessly vulnerable and entirely submitted to Victor’s will was appealing and very attractive to both of them. However, the toll worsened, and little was relished from Stephen’s miserable condition.

The agreement was working just fine. Usually, Victor woke his sorcerer up at dawn with gentle kisses across his shoulders, neck and ears, until Stephen turned and kissed Victor’s lips. That was the sign to go ahead. It was the perfect set since the light was dim enough to hide his scarred face, yet granted him the opportunity to watch the sorcerer’s pleased semblance. One could suspect that the great emperor spent all night long waiting for the first beams to shine over his window, so he could finally drown Stephen into his arms. He would probably stand by endless hours, wondering in the safety of his mind all the things he would do to the man next to him when the time came. One of Doom’s virtues was patience. Perhaps due to pride, once lack of endurance is considered a weakness. No matter. Very soon, his perseverance would be rewarded.

He took his gauntlet off and sat at Stephen’s side, caressing his face kindly.

“One last time and all will be over,” he whispered softly.

It was unnatural. The distinguished emperor has always had his will fulfilled, which left him few opportunities to care about others. His people were a constant concern, of course, yet not in a personal, intimate sense. Only coexistence would provide due experience to develop such intimacy, something that never crossed Victor’s mind. It was a new challenging occurrence. And for the very first time, he didn’t fight it. On the contrary, he allowed those feelings to emerge – that is, when no one was looking.

The ruler held Stephen’s legs delicately and took his boots off. He also knew the fancy hero outfit was unsettling for a proper night of rest, hence, imbued with a sign of respect, he changed Stephen with magic, replacing his clothes with a soft blue robe made of satin. Lastly, Victor covered the sorcerer with the usual green blanket. It was a common procedure by now.

Soon afterwards, Victor walked around the bed. Still standing, he retracted his armor and laid the accursed mask on the side table. Then, he unbuttoned his belt with the antimatter pistol, hanging it on the coat hanger. He took his green tunic off and replaced it with a green robe. He appreciated that color very much, a sign of pride nevertheless. Lastly, Victor lay down at Stephen’s side, at a safe distance, and turned his head, admiring that beautiful image. It felt so unusual, sharing a bed with someone. More than that, feeling comfortable enough to sleep at his side without the steel mask, a perpetual memento of shame and misfortune, intrinsic part of his monstrous being. The ruthless king, for a brief moment, left his ice fortress and faced the true nature of his core, deeply buried eons ago. Doctor Doom was hopelessly in love with Doctor Strange.

All seemed fine. Unfortunately, fate was not merciful towards them. Their happiness and peace didn’t last. The sorcerer’s eyes started bleeding, not the usual, red blood. It was a dark fluid, staining the pillow and the sheets. Doom immediately stood and tried to wake him up. Nothing. A spell of healing was performed. Nothing. Something was very wrong.

\---

Victor spent all morning in the library, studying _The Healing Arts of Xatamephor_. He had read it entirely, yet an occult message might have been neglected, hidden amidst friendly words, advices and instructions. Suddenly, an insight snapped into his mind like a lightning bolt. _To heal is to give part of your soul to others_.

His train of thought was interrupted by Boris, who humbly reported to his king that his sorcerer has woken up. He seemed fine, although his body as aching like hell.

\---

And speaking of hell, in a dark cell of a scarlet tower, a demon smirked maliciously.

\---

The last day of the ritual was finally at hand. Wellington, New Zealand. The sunrise emerged earlier – and redder – than expected. Mumbai, India. People grew terrified when night prophetically became day. Birnin Zana, Wakanda. The sunset seemed never-ending. Oslo, Norway. The sun was not supposed to bright so hard that time of the day. São Paulo, Brazil. The constantly cloudy and gray weather suddenly grew orange, then red, and it was not an optic effect of the city lights. New York, USA. Although many workers rarely stopped their jobs for lunch, they stopped to look at the orange clouds in the sky.

“Well, fuck,” Illyana cried as they gazed at the weather by the large window in the Sanctum Sanctorum.

“Should we call Doctor Strange?” Billy pondered, unaware of what was coming.

Doomstadt, Latveria. Doctor Doom and Doctor Strange were standing at the roof of Castledoom, the wind blowing their cloaks violently as they tried to figure out why night suddenly became red as hell.

“Illyana and Billy were reaching me through a mental link. There’s a mystical interference all around the planet. A powerful kind of sorcery is in action here, and I don’t think our sorcerers in New York will be able to deal with this level of threat. Victor,” Stephen held the ruler’s hands tenderly, his semblance crestfallen. “We need to do something.”

“Go. Have you forgotten we can’t be seen together?”

“It’s not a simple menace. It’s your planet too. You did it several times. Galactus, Thanos, Onslaught. You’ve been there every time. I need you. If all goes wrong, I still can perform the ritual if we’re side by side. Please… It’s the last day…”

A moment of silence and introspection, and the ruler nodded.

“I’ll catch you up later. I need to prepare my weaponry.”

Stephen kissed Victor’s mask tenderly and opened a portal to New York. The king stayed behind, watching him go.

\---

Bleecker Street, 177A. The Sanctum Sanctorum. Wanda Maximoff and Jericho Drumm landed in the front of the house, ready to knock at the door, when a circle of fire was summoned.

“Where’s that son of a bitch?” Daimon struck the asphalt with his trident.

“We were about to confront him, Daimon. Do not be hasty,” Jericho replied.

“Hasty? Haven’t you noticed that hell itself is merging with Earth as we speak? Where’s Doctor Strange?” the son of Satan yelled in pure anger.

“I’m here, Daimon. There’s no need to be aggressive,” the master of the mystic arts came out from a portal.

The boy rolled his eyes, too tired to argue. Illyana and Billy came out of the Sanctum, praising that the Sorcerer Supreme was finally there.

“Doc!” the girl uttered, her Soulsword on her hand, shining brightly. “I’ve felt a weird energy coming from Limbo, but I couldn’t teleport us. There’s something blocking my powers. What is happening?”

“I don’t know yet. The whole planet seems to be affected by this evil energy.”

“I was just saying this to Wanda and Jericho, Strange. Hell. Hell is what is happening.”

“Could you elaborate?” Wanda asked politely.

“It’s an ancient prophecy, if you believe in them. Long story short, when three lords of hell join forces to become one, a so-called unholy trinity, their powers will ascend and their anger will burn this planet. Basically, Hell on Earth. I thought my father was involved, but it seems another source of power is in action here.”

“Belasco…” Illyana pondered. “That’s why I can’t access Limbo. It’s Belasco.”

“Who are the other two lords?” Billy asked.

Before an answer could be shared, a loud rumble was heard and the ground trembled. Slowly, a huge crater appeared on the ground, and a twisted, scarlet figure emerged from it. Its body in flames, the size of a building, and three burning faces and six flaming eyes formed their head. A distorted voice shrieked in their ears.

“Doctor Strange! Such a delight to see you again, my old enemy!”

“I… still don’t know who this is,” he scoffed in jest.

“Behold, puny mortals, our kingdom come!”

From all around the globe, craters shattered from the ground and demons of all sizes and shapes crawled from them, spitting fire from their mouths ant terrifying people. It was not that unusual, it has happened before. Illyana, Daimon and Stephen were particularly familiar with that kind of occurrence, although it didn’t diminish their fear.

Groups of heroes gathered around the block. The first to approach the wizards was the leader of the Avengers himself, the king of Wakanda. T’Challa was not pleased.

“Strange. Tell me you know what is happening. Better than that, tell me you know how to _undo_ it.”

Once more, the answer was interrupted. The unholy creature, tired of being ignored, decided to strike. With an overwhelming blast of red eldritch energy, the demon attacked the group of sorcerers. However, another scarlet energy protected them from the assault. Wanda cast a shield at the very last second.

“Alright, no time to explain. Illyana, Billy, I need my Cloak of Levitation and the Eye of Agamotto back. T’Challa, send the Avengers and other heroes around the globe to hold the hordes of demons. Our biggest problem stands in New York, for some reason. We magic users will deal with this wretched creature.”

The heroes then split. The guilt was killing Stephen. He felt responsible for Inferno since he wasn’t around when it started. More than that, he felt guilty for spending half of the month in Victor’s bed instead of fulfilling his duty as the Sorcerer Supreme. He needed him, otherwise all seemed meaningless. Even so, everyone was relying on him. It was Vegas all over again, and this time he couldn’t fail.

“Daimon, you’re familiar with the prophecy. What do we do?”

“We need to set the lords of hell apart from each other. Shatter the trinity.”

“And how do we do that?” Billy was desperate.

“That’s the problem. I have no idea.”

It was not the time to lose hope. Doctor Strange had always overcome deadly situations, when all seemed lost. After a while, being protected by the mystic shields made his allies and using the time the Avengers bought them, an insight struck his mind.

“We could banish them to one of the circles of hell. It will give us time to figure out how to separate them. Alright, sorcerers, let’s perform that same banishment spell we did against that celestial. It will nearly exhaust our souls and bodies just like last time, but it’s our burden to carry.”

Each one of the magic users stood around the demonic entity, while other heroes keep their blasts away from the group. The sorcerers were yet to discover the true identity of the two lords of Hell, but time was not merciful.

Stephen felt drained. It was the last day of the ritual, a pain beyond any physical understanding. He suddenly wondered if he would be enough to perform his part of the banishment spell. He had to. He was supposed to be the most powerful sorcerer on Earth, a title blessed by the Ancient One’s hands. He couldn’t fail, not now.

_Victor, I need you._

Miraculously, his prayers were heard. A familiar green energy was cast in midair, opening a portal soon afterwards. Doctor Doom came out from it, descending from the heavens. Chaos was afoot. _It wasn’t supposed to be like that._

“Victor, you--”

Stephen’s joy was abruptly interrupted. With his guard lowered to the surprising backup, the sorcerer neglected the menace in front of him. A direct, violent blast threw him diagonally down to the asphalt. No ordinary human could survive such hit. At least, he had his Cloak of Levitation to soften the hit.

“Doc!” Illyana teleported next to his body, kneeling and checking his vital points.

“We lost our Sorcerer Supreme! We’re fucked!” Daimon howled.

Doom’s eyes widened. For a moment, he stunned, and the time around him seemed to stop. However, a voice resumed his awareness to the current battle.

“Victor! You came! I was wondering when you’d show up! Look at you’ve just accomplished! Soon your soul will finally enjoy us at long last!” The entity’s voice was familiar, and their sick, lecherous tone has been heard before.

“You did this!? You summoned them!?” Daimon’s rage made his eyes burn like hellish flames. The son of Satan tried to unleash a front attack towards Doom. A futile attempt, nevertheless.

The ruler teleported next to Stephen’s body, avoiding the assault, but before he could approach the man he loved, Wanda and Jericho stepped in, protecting their friend from the ruthless villain.

“Stay back, you monster!” the witch uttered, her hands ready to unleash chaos magic as Jericho invoked a spell filled with menacing Loa.

There wasn’t time to fight both those sorcerers and the unholy trinity. A relief suddenly struck Doctor Doom, as he realized that, behind the shield of the Seraphim, Stephen was still alive. The deal was off. The ruler then levitated towards the sky, looking for a very specific guest. There he was, a few blocks away, running towards the fallen Sorcerer Supreme.

“Halt,” he descended from above, his imposing figure preventing the man from proceeding.

“I don’t have time to waste with you!”

“I need the contract, Wong. I won’t ask twice.

“As far as I’m aware, _you_ are the one who caused all of this! I need to reach Stephen right now. Move or I’ll--”

“Please,” the great Doctor Doom begged, his hand reaching out for Wong’s suitcase. “He’s down. Let me fix this. For _him_.”

Wong hesitated. He hated Victor von Doom. He hated that Stephen was in love with such atrocity. Even so, it was genuine. It was infuriating and his entire reasoning was telling him to say no. Still, he had never heard Doctor Doom utter that word. _Please_.

“Fine! But when this is over, you will walk away. You’ll never see Stephen ever again! Swear on your mother’s soul!”

“I swear,” the ruler held the suitcase and flew back to the battlefield. Inside of it, there was an endless contract, which by physical laws, wouldn’t fit inside the folder. But again, it was a magic contract. More specifically, Mephisto’s incarceration conditions in the Hotel Inferno.

Victor activated the search function of his armor. There was no time to waste on such hellish bureaucracy. A contradiction should be found as fast as possible. A few seconds later and there it was. A footnote, to no one’s surprise.

“Mephisto!” his metallic voice imposing respect as he stepped in between the entity and the weary sorcerers behind him. “Stand back! You’re violating the contract!”

“Oh, my sweet Victor! What are you talking about? Wasn’t it _you_ who arranged this deal? Everything is within the law, as you can see. A thousand souls, provided by two lords of Hell. That was the required bail to set me free from Hotel Inferno. The souls were properly delivered by Belasco and Dormammu, all according to the contract!”

“You’re mistaken. The bail is not the issue. The problem lies on your warrantors.”

“What?”

“It is agreed that you needed two lords of Hell to pay the bail. Belasco and Dormammu don’t fit this condition, you fool. Belasco is no longer the lord of Limbo, the title belongs to Illyana Rasputin. He’s merely a third-rated demon now. And regarding Dormammu, he’s not even a demon. He’s Faltinian, at best. He doesn’t even fit the condition of lord of Hell.”

“Precisely,” a voice descended from the skies. “And if this argument is not enough to nullify the contract, I’d like to remind you that Dormammu is no longer the ruler of the Dark Dimension. He lost the crown a few days ago. The title belongs to me now,” Clea replied, a flaming crown on her head burning as ultimate proof of her rightful designation.

“That is… No… No! Why, Victor? Why would you ruin my freedom when you were the one who helped Belasco and Dormammu to join forces with me?” the entity screeched as their voice crackled. They led their hands to their head, their body burning and burning as they constricted and diminished. “Curse you, Victor von Doom! Your soul will be mine! You can’t run away from Hell, Victor! Do you hear me? You’ll be mine!”

The entity burst, and, in their place, three figures popped out.

“Belasco!” Illyana’s rage turned her into the darkchylde mode, revealing her demonic side. “We need to talk!” the girl created a step disc with her Soulsword and teleported the former lord of Hell to Limbo, following him afterwards. Suddenly, everyone had pity on the demon.

“And Dormammu. Never a pleasure,” Clea raised her hands and a portal swallowed the Faltinian entity to the Dark Dimension. “I’ll handle him later.”

Mephisto tried to escape through magic, but a contract is a contract. His nefarious being was dragged all the way back to Vegas, to his tiny prison in Hotel Inferno. The citizens could swear an ominous pitching noise was heard all over the town that day.

The sky in New York remained orange, but only because the sun was nearly touching the horizon. All around the world, people rejoiced its blue shades, and even where it was already dark, they felt safe as the legions of demons turned into dusty.

“Clea!” Wong rejoiced, giving her a hug.

“Wong, my dear! It’s been so long! Nice suit, by the way,” she smiled.

“Fancy, isn’t it?”

“Certainly. But where’s Stephen?”

“Oh, right! I was told he was hurt. Where is he?”

They both diverted their attention to the sorcerers in search of the man they still treasured deeply. Billy was taking care of Stephen now, since Illyana was gone to Limbo.

“Stephen!” Clea uttered, kneeling at his side and holding him in her arms.

Doctor Doom was now standing on the destroyed street, a few meters from the group. He observed his sorcerer, lying on his ex-wife’s lap. _But when this is over, you will walk away. You’ll never see Stephen ever again_, Wong’s words echoed in his mind. Victor realized that Stephen was surrounded by people who loved him dearly. He was not one of them. He didn’t deserve that designation. Crestfallen, he walked through a portal and vanished, but not before a tear dropped on the shattered asphalt.

\---

Stephen woke up in a hurry. He was on his bed, on the Sanctum Sanctorum, and his body was incredibly hurt and entirely enveloped by bandages.

“Doc!” Bats rejoiced, his front pawns on the bed and his tail wagging uncontrollably.

“Bats, hi. What… What happened?”

“You took a hell of a hit. Literally.”

“Oh, I… I remember it now. W-Wait! What time is it?” the sorcerer started to pant in utter despair.

“Around midnight. Why? Are you hungry?”

\---

A sudden, nearly faint portal opened in Doomcastle. More precisely, in Doctor Doom’s chamber.

“Victor!” the sorcerer cried, his outfit barely hiding the bandages over his arms and neck. “Victor, I’m… I’m sorry,” Stephen panted, tears finally rolling down from his eyes.

The ruler was standing by the window, staring at his capital, as usual, and his cold imposing silhouette remained still. No words, no feelings whatsoever.

“Victor, please, talk to me! I’m sorry I’ve failed you, I’m... Please…” the sorcerer was now sobbing, the pain taking over his body and soul until he succumbed and fell on his knees. It was too much to bear.

“Leave,” Doom replied coldly, his back still on the sorcerer. “Our partnership is over. In all senses.”

“I’m sorry… Please… I really love you…”

“It has always been one-sided. I cannot give you what you’re looking for.”

No. That was certainly a lie. After all they’ve shared through that month, it couldn’t be. Stephen could understand why the ruler was disappointed at him, after all, the spell failed. But he couldn’t believe that there was no love involved in their relationship. The way Victor looked at Stephen when they fucked, the way Victor held the sorcerer in his arms at dawn and sucked his cock voraciously, the way they made out in the library when no one was looking. Hell, the way they laughed as they exchanged tickles on bed. And above all, that sweet gesture that became one of the most important reminiscences of their relationship: every night, Victor held his shaking hands and never let them go, no matter how uncomfortable they could be. That gesture meant that the king would never leave the sorcerer, despite all adversities. It was his utmost proof of commitment, and Stephen treasured that deeply, as if it were sacred and divine.

He was _definitely_ lying.

This time, Stephen came prepared. Decided, eyes narrowed, he opened the Eye of Agamotto and bathed Victor with its light without his consent.

“No!” the ruler turned, his arm protecting his sight from that accursed light. Too many secrets. Too many lies. Too many sins.

Victor walked towards the fallen wizard, kneeling and holding his wrist fiercely so he could break the spell. The light faded, draining his last strength.

“You’re lying…” Stephen cried, his voice crackling as tears rolled down from his eyes, his body about to collapse all over again.

“You want the truth, Strange? _I_ was the one responsible for convincing Belasco and Dormammu to aid Mephisto. I was the responsible for bringing Hell on Earth. I haven’t changed, I’m the same monster the entire world fear desperately! Whichever feelings you still hold for me, you better bury them deep down in your heart. Lock them away, and we can pretend this never happened.”

“Why…” the sorcerer panted. “Why would you sabotage the very last day of the spell that would heal you for good? It doesn’t make any sense. It was your dearest dream…”

No words were spoken. Only silence. Utter, sharp, excruciating silence. Stephen could now stare at Victor’s semblance behind the mask. He didn’t seem to hesitate before their confrontation. The sorcerer then touched the ruler’s right wrist, leading his armored hand to Stephen’s neck. His teary blue eyes met Victor’s emotionless brown eyes. There was anger no more. There was nothing.

“If you don’t kill me right now, I’ll keep coming to you with the Eye. I won’t rest until I find the true reason behind your actions. I’ll become your enemy and we’ll fight until I rip the truth out of your soul. I will _not_ tolerate your lies. You’ve become far too important to me, Victor… Decide now which path you will take. Decide our fates. I’m in your hands.”

The king stunned. They were so close, one impulse and everything would be different. Why would their lives have to take separate ways? It wasn’t fair. Victor still loved Stephen deeply. Even though his grip was not even tightened this time, the image of his gauntlet suffocating the sorcerer still haunted his dreams. For many nights, he woke up in despair, sweating and panting, as the sorcerer slept deeply due to exhaustion. How could Stephen have forgiven him after everything the king had done to him? Victor killed him once. He couldn’t. He couldn’t do it again.

“You know I can’t…” he whispered with a long breath, releasing Stephen’s neck and hiding his teary eyes.

“Then tell me the truth, Victor. Please.”

“You could have died.”

“What?”

The ruler stood up, leaving the sorcerer on the floor and heading towards the window. It was the only known way to him to speak from the heart.

“Xatamephor’s healing spell is not based on light magic. The cost for such power is the caster’s soul. You knew that, didn’t you? You were willingly shattering your own soul in order to heal my face.”

“I… I wasn’t sure it could effectively shatter my soul. Those words seemed metaphorical at first…”

“But it didn’t make any difference in the end, did it? You would have offered your soul all the same. You would have traded it for the incantation. God, Stephen, you were dying for me and you were fine with that,” Doom’s voice crackled, his breath suddenly became heavier as he led his hand to his face. “I knew you wouldn’t have stopped the ritual, even if I had asked of you. Even if I had forbidden you to perform such atrocity. You’re far too stubborn. So yes, I arranged a way to free Mephisto so your hands would be full, thus interrupting the ritual. Things didn’t happen as they should. You were hurt, and it is my fault. I couldn’t be the one responsible for your death yet again. Once was enough to leave irreparable scars on my soul. And I have too many of them to understand their weight. I don’t deserve your kindness. And I definitely don’t deserve your sacrifice. This is my resolution. It will be more profitable if we don’t see each other ever again…”

“I won’t accept your resolution. I told you before, I love you.”

“It matters not.”

“Of course, it matters!” Stephen rose from the floor using the Cloak of Levitation. Gathering strength from the bottom of his soul, he cast a powerful energy, capable of turning and raising the king off the ground. Waving his hand, the Sorcerer Supreme ripped out his mask, which was thrown at the wall violently. He then approached Victor, his eyes enraged and saddened at the same time. “Of course, it matters,” he repeated, whispering and touching his king’s scarred face, his warm breath panting over his lips.

“Would you love this monstrosity, Stephen?” the king inquired, his heart about to burst as he felt that gentle touch on his scars.

“Would you love this mess, Victor?”

It was too much. The king broke his promise. He couldn’t resist Stephen, even though he still found himself unworthy. They kissed deeply, both their feet off the ground, Victor’s fingers interlacing with the sorcerer’s locks of hair and pulling his head against their kiss, as Stephen cupped his king’s face gracefully and tenderly. Their tongues met, rubbing one against the other intensely. Victor interrupted the gesture for a moment, directing passionate kisses all over Stephen’s face and neck. The sorcerer’s hands slid across his king’s jaw and neck, embracing him dearly as he panted.

“Victor…” Stephen moaned faintly. But the foreplay was interrupted for the sorcerer indeed fainted, falling on his beloved’s arms.

“Fool,” the king whispered softly, feeling Stephen’s warmth and smell.

As habitual, Victor laid Stephen on his bed. Hopefully, it would be the last time the sorcerer succumbed to utterly exhaustion, but not the last time they shared a bed. The future was uncertain. They were indeed supposed to be enemies, however, even under these circumstances, they overcame labels and alignments. They would face common enemies, and perhaps common friends. Fate was not on their side. Yet, against all the odds, they would defy the entire multiverse if needed.

Stephen wasn’t aware, but he had already healed Victor. Not in the physical level, no. The cure happened inside of the ruler’s heart. That month had changed him in levels he couldn’t comprehend yet. There was still shame and self-loathing, sadness and regret, all entailed by the incident. But Stephen was dealing with the same struggles. Unintentionally, they found support on each other. They were not so different, after all.

Of course, the king wouldn’t act as a villain or a hero. He would still wander that gray area between good and evil, doing what it was necessary to defend his people. Yet, that figurative armor, hiding his core and locking away his most beautiful side, was finally gone when Stephen was around. They were both vulnerable, and it felt great. It was peaceful. It was overwhelming. It was worth it.

Thus, Doctor Strange and Doctor Doom emerged triumphant from the fiercest fight of their lives, and the torment was finally over.


End file.
